Part 11 (2/2)
Taking a deep breath, she tossed the tissue in the wastebasket ; then she opened the door. She knew she looked like h.e.l.l, but there wasn't much she could do about it now. ”I must have a bug again, or else that nasty dinner I made poisoned me.”
Chris wrapped her in his arms, careful not to shake or jostle her around. ”It must be a bug. I ate the same thing, and I'm fine. Make sure you call the doctor and schedule an appointment tomorrow. Come on, I want you to lie down.”
Abby didn't put up a fight when Chris lifted her in his arms and carried her upstairs to the master bedroom. The room was the size of his old condo in California. He still found it weird living in such a huge house, even though he'd spent part of his childhood on the plantation. It'd been different then. He was young, running wild, and only there when he needed to sleep, shower, or eat.
Carefully he helped Abby remove her jeans. ”Just because I'm letting you strip me, don't get any ideas, Mr. Clay.” She'd no more said the words than Chester trotted in the room.
”Come here, boy.” Abby patted the spot beside her. Like the obedient dog he was, he hopped up on the bed. He nudged her hand with his nose. ”You're my main man, you know that?” She scratched him between his ears; then he curled up next to her.
Chris brought a cold washcloth from the bathroom. ”Here, wipe your face while I go downstairs and make you a pot of chamomile tea. And I thought I was your main man,” he added.
”Always,” she whispered, unsure how long her ”always” would be.
She closed her eyes, thinking of the zillion things she would have to do if she really was terminally ill: the animals, the house, her mother, the three g's, Chester.
s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t!
She was not ready to die. She'd rarely been sick as a kid. Her mother was hearty, and Abby always thought she was, too. And she always had been. Except for the occasional menstrual cramps, and a few colds, she'd been as healthy as a horse.
She closed her eyes, visions of her mother's events, funerals. She imagined that her mother would be so grief-stricken....
Wait! ”Chris,” she yelled, ”bring my purse when you come back up!”
Abby instantly became alert, her thoughts taking her in a completely different direction. She wasn't sure, but still, it was always possible.
Chris came in the room, balancing a tray with a pot of tea, her purse slung over his shoulder.
”Smells good. The purse is so you, too,” she joked.
”Smart-a.s.s. Here, scoot over. I made you some raisin toast. I don't want you to dehydrate.”
Suddenly Abby was ravenous. She munched on the toast and sipped the tea. Feeling almost like herself again, she reached for her purse.
”What are you looking for?” Chris asked.
”My date book.”
”You of all people, I can't believe you still use one of those old-fas.h.i.+oned things. Why don't you keep your stuff stored on your cell phone?”
Abby found her date book at the bottom of her purse. She removed a melted piece of chocolate from the plastic and half a dog biscuit between March and April. ”I need to clean this thing out. Now, let me look at this.” She flipped through the months. Not seeing what she wanted, she flipped through them a second time, searching for that little red check mark. She looked at Chris, then back at the calendar.
”What?” Chris said, seeing the alarm on his wife's face. ”Did we forget an appointment?”
Abby flipped through the past three months, desperately searching for that rea.s.suring little red check mark. It was not there.
”No,” she said, thinking, trying to remember the last time she'd had her period. When she couldn't remember, she plopped back on the pillows, so relieved, yet scared and excited, too.
”So, what's all this flipping pages back and forth for?”
”Chris, is there a CVS or a Walgreens close by? One that's open late?”
”Sure, there's a CVS a couple miles from here. Why? You need something?”
Yes, she did. But was she going to send Chris out at nine o'clock at night to get what she wanted?
No. She wasn't.
”Give me my jeans. We're going to the drugstore. Now.” Abby took the jeans, which Chris picked off the floor, and put them on. Then she slid her feet into her hot pink flip-flops. ”Come on, let's go.”
”Abby, why don't you just tell me what you need. You're not feeling good. I can pick up whatever it is you need. Even if it's girlie stuff,” he said, grinning.
If only, she thought, but laughed. It is girlie stuff, all right.
”For once, just don't argue with me. Just do what I ask without questioning it.”
Chris held his hands out in front of him. ”I thought that's what I always do.”
Abby laughed. ”Come on before the place closes. This is something we need to do together. Kind of a surprise.” Again, she thought, If only. She could be wrong, but everything was making sense now. She'd been barfing, off and on, for weeks. More tired than usual; and now that she suspected what her problem was, she thought about the new and strange smells she'd sworn were there, when Chris swore she was losing it.
”I'm only doing this because I love you,” Chris informed her.
”And when we get home, you'll love me even more,” she teased. Chester rolled his head around. ”You stay here, boy. This is man/woman time.” She fluffed his fur; then she grabbed her purse from the bed.
Twenty minutes and a dozen questions later, Chris pulled into the parking lot at CVS. ”Okay, we're here. Now you want to tell me what this is about?” he said, then cut the engine.
”Come inside, and you'll find out.” She got out of the car before he questioned her again. She'd put off answering his questions the entire ride over. She wanted this moment to be special-something they would talk about in years to come, something they would tell their children and their grandchildren.
Chris followed her inside the brightly lit store. They had everything: Food, magazines, the latest ”As Seen on TV” stuff. Soda, beer, dill-pickle-flavored potato chips.
”Abby, do you have the munchies?”
”G.o.d, Chris. You're acting like I've just smoked a joint or something. And, no, I don't have 'the munchies.' Follow me.”
She was loving this bantering, the mystery of not knowing. Once she knew, once her suspicions were confirmed, their lives would change forever. She walked faster. When she located the aisle where they kept the pregnancy tests, she stopped and waited for Chris to catch up with her.
She eyed the pregnancy test kits on the shelf, then looked at Chris.
”You . . . are . . . is . . . are we? Abby!” Chris pointed to the many varied home pregnancy tests.
”That's what we're here to find out,” she said, a euphoric smile curving her mouth.
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